


The Life of Him (or When It's Late and No One Else's Thoughts Take Up Space)

by avxry



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fanfic, Fluff, M/M, domestic life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avxry/pseuds/avxry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock often stays up until the early hours of the morning to think while no one else thinks. He finds it to be the best time to contemplate the meaning of life (also known as John).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life of Him (or When It's Late and No One Else's Thoughts Take Up Space)

Sherlock had realized when they first met that John was a sturdy human being with a sturdy attitude and a sturdy personality. John was just sturdy in general. He was something to lean on when everything else was feeble. Sherlock, of course, never thought he'd need to take advantage of this quality, nor did he believe he would ever want to.

Nothing had happened so far, that required Sherlock to _need_ this trait of John's, but Sherlock seemed to become more aware of it as time passed. It was comforting that John's sturdiness was reliable, that it wasn't just an occasional thing that popped up here and there. John's reliability was reliable, and Sherlock could never quite get over that.

It was early in the morning when Sherlock contemplated this, or late at night, depending on the point of view. Sherlock lay in bed beside John, watching him out of the corner of his left eye. A bit of light poured through the window from the moon (blasted curtains, Sherlock had meant to throw them out and get new ones, they were dreadful in the mornings), reflecting off John's blond-ish, short hair.

Sherlock usually was like this. He thought about things when no one else was awake to think at all. It helped him concentrate, as if there was only so much space for thought in his half of the world, and when everyone was asleep, he had it all to himself, considering the only people up at this hour were those that were drunk at parties and those people tend to not think at all.

Sherlock shifted around on the bed, trying to get comfortable. He was achingly tired, and knew he needed sleep, but he persisted, just to see the milky moonlight on John's face for as long as he could.

John's presence in general was comforting. There was nothing hindering Sherlock when John was concerned. John was Sherlock's gateway to all things impossible.

John was Sherlock's purpose (if that made any sense). John was Sherlock's reason for anything, his motive, his drive, his world. It terrified him so. How dangerous it was to be so attached to a person that you couldn't function if they didn't.

That's how Sherlock felt (and it was odd, seeing as he never really felt before) (and it was frightening, seeing as he never really felt before) (and it was enlightening, seeing as he never really felt before).

Sherlock thinks, _It's insane the amount of life someone can put into someone else._

He rolls his eyes. It shouldn't be so easy, he should have to argue, should have to shout, should have to want to give up completely, like he did when he got invested in anyone else before. Of course, he argued with John, but he didn't _argue with John_. There was a large margin of difference between this case and previous cases.

Sherlock was never a fan of relationships, but as he lay beside John in the queen-sized bed, the sound of steady breathing next to him, he thought that maybe he could be, if he allowed it.

Maybe John would be the death of him.

But more likely, he would be the life of him.

John rolled over in his sleep so that he was facing Sherlock directly. Sherlock thought John was sound asleep, but he was wrong in his assumptions (not that he would ever admit it, even to himself) because John's eyes fluttered open silently. He furrowed his brow.

"Sherlock?" he said groggily. "Have you slept?"

"No."

John sighed exasperatedly (fondly) and swatted him on the shoulder. "Get some sleep, Sherlock. You need your rest." 

Sherlock was about to retort when John scooted over closer to him and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. A sigh of contentment was released from John's lips, tickling Sherlock's bare throat.

Sherlock decided (more like succumbed to the overwhelming need) to sleep as John directed. His eyelids shut almost immediately, pulled down by their heavy weight. Sherlock was submersed in darkness of his own creation then, and was fast asleep in moments.

If John kept protecting Sherlock from himself, maybe he would be the life of him after all.


End file.
